There Were No Good Old Days
by Min Daae
Summary: Sarah sees a familiar face...but maybe not that familiar. Something's changed. Set between seasons 3 and 4.


At first, she didn't recognize him.

It'd been a couple years, a couple boyfriends, all of them lousy. It was in late summer and Sarah just happened to be taking out the trash and there was a guy across the street, standing in Louisa Bennison's doorway. He was freaking tall, was the first thing she registered, with long brown hair and wearing a suit. She felt a confusing sense of familiarity but thought nothing of it until she was already turned and halfway back to the door.

Then she registered the car, and whatever else, the car was distinctive enough – big, black, and old – and she whipped around and looked again.

It was him all right. Sam Winchester, who'd introduced her to a world where ghosts lived in paintings and murdered people. Who'd lost his girlfriend and said he was a danger to everyone around him. Who was actually a really good kisser.

How could she have forgotten?

Sarah opened her mouth to yell out to him, and then realized that he wasn't here for her. He was probably investigating something, and using a fake name or something. She tried to think if she'd read about anything funny happening around here lately, but nothing came. Oh well. Maybe she just hadn't heard yet. She'd be sure to ask.

It was funny, though. She peered at the car, but there was no one else in it. She remembered his brother, even if Sam had been the one she'd had eyes for. Handsome, sure, but kind of loud. Brash. She liked the quieter type.

Maybe they'd split up, or something. She shrugged it off and stayed where she was, trying not to smile, wondering if he would recognize her.

"Thank you for your time," she heard his voice carry across the street, as quiet as she remembered, but deeper, it seemed. Louisa's door closed and Sam turned around. His eyes swept over her without seeing her, and she felt her stomach drop. His face looked harder, too. Older. There'd still been softness to his features when she'd seen him last. It was gone now.

He'd gone from being cute-maybe-hot to full blown sexy, she decided, and gave up on subtlety as he started to move toward the car without noticing her.

"Hey! Sam!"

His head snapped up and he turned around, one hand moving to the waistband of his pants, and she flinched at the way he seemed to wind tight, going from suited gentleman to predator in two seconds flat. Her hopes started to wilt, but then he blinked and straightened, seeming puzzled.

"…Sarah?"

So maybe it had been a long couple of years. "Yeah," she said, suddenly feeling a little uneasy and unsettled. There was something about him that – she shook it off. "Sarah Blake, remember?"

She saw him hesitate, and then the keys vanished into the pockets of his jacket along with his hands and he walked slowly – no, not walked, she corrected, _prowled, _had he moved like that before? – toward her. "Huh. Yeah, I…forgot you lived here. God. How long's it been?"

"Couple years," she said. "Almost three…so what're you back here for?"

Sam shrugged. He seemed taller, too, more imposing. Towering over her in a way she didn't remember. She definitely didn't remember ever feeling nervous around him before. "Just tracking something," he said, and his voice went so neutral that she knew he wasn't telling her even half of the story. She frowned a little, but she supposed she probably didn't want to know. "It doesn't matter. How're you?"

She realized, abruptly, what was wrong with this picture. She remembered Sam being easy to talk to, quiet and giving off tasty vibes of 'sensitive!' and 'understanding!' She didn't get that feeling now. The feeling she got now was of steel that was only barely covered, and a conversation that felt distinctly stilted on one side, like he was just going through the motions. It confused her.

"I'm fine," she said, realizing that maybe she'd been quiet too long. "Still helping my dad out, some. Trying a little painting myself on the side. It's weird, thinking that my life's been…I thought everything would change, but it hasn't, really."

Sam smiled, but that looked strange too. Strained. "That's good," he said, and at least that sounded genuine. "I'm – glad you're okay." Like he'd expected something else, which actually, he probably had. She squinted a little.

"What about you, Sam? How've you been?"

He blinked at her like he wasn't sure what to make of the question, or like she'd spoken in some kind of foreign tongue. "How've I – oh, right. Yeah. Fine, I guess. Same as usual."

She gestured at the car. "Yeah, I see you didn't take advantage of that Cash for Clunkers program, same old car…"

His shoulders jerked, and she saw his face harden, his lips pressing together, and for a moment she thought he was going to lash out or something, again watching that shift from ordinary man to something altogether more lethal. Then it was gone again. "Yeah," he said, and nothing else.

Sarah hesitated, feeling awkward, and beginning to wonder why she'd called him over. There was something wrong, though, and it was pricking at her worry instincts, no matter that he was a nearly three year old flame. He'd saved her from a ghost. That was kind of a big deal, she supposed.

"—are you sure you're all right?" She asked. "You seem a little…weird."

He looked at her again with that expression like she was saying something foreign. Like he didn't know what she was asking or wasn't familiar with how to answer. She pinned it down, finally: like he'd been alone for ages and didn't quite know how to deal with human interaction. But that didn't make any sense.

"Weird? Weird how?" She wondered if the frown between his eyebrows was just because standing out would probably mess with his ghost-hunting. "I'm fine. Really. That's…um, sweet of you to worry, but-"

Sarah bit her lip, and took the plunge. "Where's – your brother? His name's Dean, right? I remember him, he wasn't bad. Where's he?"

And just like that, Sam shut down. She watched it happen, watched his face smooth out and all the expression vanish like it'd been sucked down a drain, watched his eyes go cold and stare at her with all the warmth and recognition of a statue. Maybe less.

And she'd thought he was scary before. Sarah shivered.

"He's dead," Sam said.

Oh, Sarah thought, and _oh. _A blind man could have seen how close Sam and his brother were. How much they meant to each other, in a totally non-cheesy way. No wonder he looked so… "Oh god," she said, her hands coming up to cover her mouth as if she could take back her own words. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't…"

"Yeah, I know. You didn't know. It's fine." Sam's voice was so flat she wondered if he was even listening to what he was saying anymore, if he'd gone through this same conversation before, time after time until it was just on autopilot.

Sarah bit her lip and stared up _(up) _at him. "That's – I'm so sorry. That's awful. What…"

Sam's mouth turned down, slightly, and then even that was gone. He shook his head and cut her off. "You don't want to know." And she probably didn't. But oh god, she knew what it was like to lose someone who mattered to you, and even if he was a flame almost three years past, she felt for him, she really did.

"God, Sam," she said, realizing how stupid she sounded and already knowing how inadequate anything she said would be. "Do you want to – you should come in. I – do you want to talk about it?"

"No." His voice was flat and hard. "I should keep moving."

"Just for dinner?" She said, wheedling. Sarah knew it was stupid, but thinking about him being out there by himself, so disconnected simple human concern seemed to bemuse him… dinner wasn't anything. Right? "Nobody's home, it's just me tonight. Come on. You can stay, can't you?"

"No," a voice cut in, female. "He can't."

_Where did she come from? _

The woman standing next to Sam was dark haired, shorter than Sarah and – okay, pretty. Her shirt was cut way too low and her pants were too tight, but she did have plenty to flaunt. There was something about her face, though, that seemed a little bit…disdainful, scornful even. Like she was permanently trying to hold back a sneer. It didn't really fit on those features, either.

And Sam was looking at her with a frown like he didn't know where she'd come from either.

"Who are _you?_" She asked, surprised. The woman was standing next to Sam closely, like she was a girlfriend or something, but the way Sam was acting – it hadn't seemed like he'd been doing a whole lot of socializing.

"I'm Ruby," said the girl, giving Sarah a smile that was most definitely patronizing. "Sam's with me, sweetcheeks, so don't give me that look. It's pointless and it's not very cute."

Sarah felt herself flush and looked at Sam, expecting him to say something, but he just shook his head and met her eyes, slowly. If Sarah had been just a little more emotional, she would have wanted to cry for the emptiness she saw there. "Okay," she said, "I know, I was just saying that maybe we could do dinner and talk about old-"

"No," Sam cut her off again. "Ruby's right. I need to be going." He took a step back. "Take care of yourself, Sarah. I'm glad you're doing all right."

Sarah felt a flare of temper and looked pointedly at Ruby. "I was just thinking maybe it would be nice if you could talk to someone who knew Dean-"

"Oh," Ruby said, and her lip curled slightly. "_Dean._"

Sarah waited for Sam to do something. Turn around and snap at Ruby, or something. His shoulders hunched and his eyes seemed to darken, but he didn't say anything. She felt the hole in her stomach grow. She could read manipulation all over this relationship, and was surprised at how angry it made her.

"Ruby," Sam said, and he sounded tired more than anything. Sarah guessed he only spoke up to head off the anger he had to be able to see in her face. "Come on. We should go. She's been and gone."

"I knew that. That's why I let you go in the first place, stupid."

"She?" Sarah said, and Ruby glanced at her and laughed.

"Aw. She is cute, Sammy."

"Don't call me that," said Sam, but with the kind of resignation that said he knew he was fighting a losing battle. "I'm getting in the car. Bye, Sarah."

Sarah looked at him helplessly, unable to find any of the things she wanted to say. Instead, what she said was, "I'm sorry about Dean." He flinched, this time.

"Yeah," he said, simply.

"I'll be right there," said Ruby, and blew a kiss over her shoulder. Sam didn't even acknowledge it. Sarah frowned as the woman turned back to her.

"Okay," said Ruby. "I can see it all over your face you want to duke it out. So I'm just going to give you a hint." She smiled, and her eyes flashed to black, lid to lid. "You don't want to mess with me."

Sarah felt her stomach lurch into her throat with fear that was instinctive in the same way being afraid when looking over the edge of a cliff with no railing was instinctive. She stepped back. "What are you?" She heard herself ask. Ruby smirked.

"All that's keeping _him _alive." She tossed her hair and her eyes went back to normal, though Sarah couldn't look away from them now. "You should have seen him when I found him. But he's doing better now. Thanks to me." She leaned forward. "Fair warning, Sarah Blake. I'd remember my name. You might find it comes in handy in the future."

Sarah felt herself flinch as Ruby leaned forward a little more, but then the woman moved back and waved at her with a grin, like nothing had happened. Her eyes were black. "See you around."

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself and didn't reply as she watched Ruby saunter over to the car and slide into the passenger seat. Watched her lean over and pull Sam into a kiss that Sarah was sure was just for her benefit.

They drove off.

Sarah had been raised Catholic, but she'd forgotten about all of it ages ago. Nonetheless, she went into her house with her hands shaking, went upstairs, and did something she hadn't done for years.

She prayed.


End file.
